


jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene

by woodlands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, ever since i read that the actor played muldoon as in love with silver i’ve never known peace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodlands/pseuds/woodlands
Summary: please don’t take him, even though you can-Muldoon watches Silver watch Flint.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw & John Silver, Muldoon/John Silver
Comments: 25
Kudos: 65





	jolene, jolene, jolene, jolene

**Author's Note:**

> apologies to ms. parton. you were probably not picturing captain flint when you wrote jolene, even if i was picturing captain flint when i listened to it. his beauty is truly beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair...

Captain Flint barks another order, sending the men scurrying.

Muldoon watches Silver watching Flint. 

It’s been a long stretch at sea, their prey few and far between, but there’s a merchant vessel on the horizon and it’s riding high, which means it won’t put up a fight but will be hard to catch, fleetfoot and agile. As usual, Flint has this under control, despite De Groot’s warnings about wind speed and cargo. He stands resolute with the wind in his hair and his coat whipping behind him, mirroring the sails above, an imposing figure against the bright tropical sky. 

Silver can’t take his eyes off him. 

Muldoon’s not sure whether Silver knows, about any of it—his own fascination with the captain, or Muldoon’s fascination with Silver. The latter seems slightly more likely. He certainly lets Muldoon sit a little too close in the mess, smiles a little too brightly when their shoulders brush in passing. 

But he’s not an introspective man, Silver. He follows the captain around like a lovesick puppy and Muldoon tries not to do the same to him. At least Muldoon’s aware of himself enough to know why. 

Logan let Muldoon touch him more often after Silver joined up, whenever they were at sea and he couldn’t get to the girl he liked at the inn. Had said, not unkindly, that they were both just scratching an itch. Hadn’t mentioned it, the first time Muldoon came on a sibilant hiss, the aborted beginnings of a name. Had disappeared with the whore and hadn’t bothered to say goodbye. 

And that was fine. Muldoon is used to this kind of thing, of small affections buried too deep to rip out, so they can’t leave splinters. He hadn’t loved Logan. Logan hadn’t loved him. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. So it was fine. 

Silver’s finally gotten distracted from the captain. He leans toward Muldoon and raises an eyebrow at Boggs, standing hunched over the rail, green about the gills. “Too much rum, you think?”

“Too much of last night’s stew, if you're asking me.”

Running a hand through his curls, Silver laughs back at him. He’s struck, yet again, by how fucking good Silver looks in the sunlight, sweaty and golden-skinned, sleeves rolled up, hands strong where they grip the rail he’s leaning against. He takes Muldoon’s jibe with all the practiced ease of a man who doesn’t care what others think of him, even though Muldoon’s pretty sure Silver cares a lot, too much. Some opinions more than others, maybe. 

“Think we’ll catch her?” Silver’s all questions today. They’ll catch up to the ship, alright, and Silver will disappear into the bowels of the Walrus, and if there’s a fight, Muldoon will get lost in the dull chaos of the guns. If there isn’t, it will be a day of cataloging inventory, and Silver will still have fucked off somewhere, completely disinterested in helping. 

That shit would make him mad, normally, piss him off to see a crew member so obviously not pulling his weight. A good cook, he’d allow some laziness while he’s tallying up his resentments. Silver’s not a good cook. 

Silver also has a smile that breaks widely over his face and lights Muldoon’s insides up, and big hands that always seem to be moving—and he must know by now. He’s turned back to watch the captain again, but the way he’d looked at Muldoon just before, eyes a little narrowed, like he’d been thinking—

The captain is speaking furiously with Mr. Gates, who stands firm, and angry. After another volley of fiercely pointed words, Flint turns on his heel and storms off, probably back down to his cabin. Muldoon feels the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Well,” says Silver, straightening, “I’d better be off. Dinner to cook, Randall to wrangle, you know.”

“Yeah,” Muldoon says, trying not to lean too hard into it when Silver grasps his shoulder briefly. Then he shakes himself. “See you out there,” he calls after him, grinning. Silver spins back towards him, in on the joke, arms and smile wide as if to say, _can’t wait, of course I will see you if she puts up a fight, of course I won’t be holed up somewhere belowdecks!_

“Fucker’s getting too big for himself,” Gibson says to Muldoon, passing by. 

“Yeah,” he says absently. He runs a hand over his scalp. He can still feel Silver’s palm on his shoulder, solid and heavy.

-

It’s quiet tonight. They’ll be docking in Nassau by morning most likely, and he’s ready to stand on solid ground again, to drink something better than the swill they pulled off the merchant ship, to eat something that hasn’t been cooked by Silver. 

Boggs, having recovered from his bout of ill health, is singing something in his bastardized French, weaving in and out of the lord’s English on every second line. For once, the crew is letting him do it. He’s not particularly good. It’s better than nothing.

Taking a leaf out of Silver’s book, Muldoon eyes the captain, leaning back against a barrel and apparently listening to Boggs’s warbling. He’s strikingly handsome, Muldoon is willing to concede, especially in the faint lamp light: auburn hair tied back against the wind, weathered face thrown in and out of shadow as he shifts with the movement of the ship. He’s all sharp angles. The only times he’s ever not glowering is when his eyes are alight with the thrill and hunger of a hunter approaching his prey. Muldoon’s seen that look on deck as they turn the guns on a ship. He’s seen it, too, in the mess when Silver gets up from the floor, bloody and resolute. 

Everybody knows Flint doesn’t fuck the crew. Flint doesn’t fuck any of the girls at the inn, either. But Muldoon’s not certain he wouldn’t fuck Silver, if the opportunity presented itself.

-

“I dunno,” Muldoon says, “I just think he’s too far down to come back up.”

Silver chuckles. It’s low and friendly and just for him and mingles with the rum to warm him up nicely. He’s standing way too close to Muldoon, and it might be so he can see the hand Joshua’s got, then again, Muldoon wants to think, it might not. “It would help in predicting the outcome if any of us knew the rules of this game.”

“He has to play a diamond,” he says, tapping the back of his hand on Silver’s chest, “Or a spade.”

“No,” A crew member from the Intrepid slurs from the other side of Silver, “He has to play a… a queen.”

Joshua turns to glare at them. “Will you all shut your yaps—“

“You have to play a queen—“ the man is repeating, looking very pleased with himself. 

Joshua half-rises out of his seat. 

“Come on,” Silver says, hand around Muldoon’s wrist, “Before they come to blows.” His hand drops as soon as Muldoon turns to follow him. 

But he doesn’t have long to miss it. Outside, Silver crowds him between a tannery and a shed, enveloping them in darkness. “Do you want—“

“Yeah,” he says. Doesn’t wait to find out the question. 

It doesn’t happen like this, in his experience. He knows for a fact Silver’s got coin in his pocket. The inn is right up the road. And for another thing: neither of them is drunk. But here is Silver’s hand, scrabbling at his belt. Silver’s hair brushing his cheek. Silver’s muffled grunt when Muldoon grips him through his trousers. 

He risks letting his head fall to Silver’s shoulder as they pull at each other. It feels, in the dark, a little like being held. “Ah, _yeah_ ,” Silver says, when Muldoon slows his hand for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the head of Silver’s cock. The sound brushes over Muldoon’s ear like a caress. 

A commotion from the road knocks them apart for a moment, before it becomes clear that they can’t be seen in the shadows. When they come back together Silver puts his free hand flat on Muldoon’s belly. It makes him quiver. He gets his hand back down Silver’s trousers. 

“Captain,” barks the unmistakable voice of Mr. Gates. 

“I’ll brook no argument, on this or anything else tonight,” replies the captain, sounding like he’s right on top of them. Muldoon can feel it when Silver recognizes Flint—his hands tighten on Muldoon’s cock and hip. He sucks in a very audible, very shaky breath. 

They stand frozen like that, pressed together in the darkness. He wishes he could see Silver. His flushed cheeks. Whether he got redder, just now, or if the blood drained from his face instead. Whether his eyes are closed. What he’s looking at, if they’re open. 

Their quartermaster and captain stand arguing a few feet from them. “We should, we—,” he whispers, then stops himself. With Silver’s hand on him, his impulse to avoid getting caught is rapidly dwindling. The thought, when it comes, brings heat to his own neck and cheeks: would it be so bad if Flint saw them like this? Silver, under Muldoon’s hands, breaths coming quicker and quicker, beginning to unravel—for Muldoon?

But it’s followed by another, more horrible thought, that it isn’t for him, not really. 

“ _Please_ ,” he pleads quietly, opening his mouth to Silver’s throat. 

He doesn’t know who he’s begging—Silver, or Flint, whose furious voice has faded down the road even if his ghost is still here, wedged between them. Silver lets go of his hip and wanders his free hand down to Muldoon’s own and laces their fingers together. For some reason, this is what does it for him, and he muffles his groan into Silver’s shoulder and comes so hard his knees nearly give out. 

When Silver comes a moment later he gasps, “oh, oh, oh—“ and Muldoon imagines it’s Flint wringing his orgasm out of him. Flint wouldn’t be afraid to kiss him through it, if he wanted to. Silver wouldn’t be afraid to let him. 

Bizarrely, he thinks about Logan, while they’re straightening their clothes. Wonders what he would have thought about all this.

“Thanks,” Silver says, and even in the darkness Muldoon can tell he’s grinning, “Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Sure,” he replies. Easy, like he doesn’t care either way. 

-

Flint asks for a report on the gun crew, and Muldoon stands in his cabin, a desk between them. Gives his update. Thinks again: _Please._

When he leaves he passes Silver, who winks at him. The door swings shut behind him and between them. The sound doesn’t echo in the dark passageway. 

_Please._

This time, he knows exactly what he’s asking.


End file.
